American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 43 Church
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The phone rang, breaking the silence of the room.

"Beep beep beep—"

John walked to the bedside table and picked up the vintage rotary telephone.

A polite voice came through the receiver: "Mr. John Wick, I'm very sorry to bother you at this hour. However, we have received several complaints from guests about unusual noises coming from your room. Would you like our assistance?"

John glanced at Perkins, who was sprawled on the floor, and replied calmly, "No problem, I'll keep my voice down."

"Thank you very much for your cooperation. Good night, Mr. Wick."

After hanging up the phone, only Perkins' faint breathing could be heard in the room.

Beta stood before the sink, the water washing away the blood between his fingers. He shook the water droplets from his hands. "I'm going to Little Russia to find that church. You stay at the hotel."

He glanced at Perkins on the ground: "And let Weston handle this problem."

John stroked the bandage on his abdomen: "Two people are safer to move around with."

"Really? Weren't you the unlucky guy who got stabbed by a bottle?"
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Beta slowly parked the Honda sedan on the street corner opposite the church.

He rolled down the car window, letting the cold wind in, and surveyed the Orthodox church. The gray-white dome gleamed faintly in the twilight, and groups of worshippers climbed the steps in twos and threes. Everything seemed so ordinary.

He reached out to adjust the rearview mirror, and a strange face appeared in the mirror: a dark brown wig, a meticulously trimmed beard, and a pair of non-prescription glasses that obscured his eyes.

After confirming that the disguise was genuine, he opened the car door and, like any ordinary Slavic person coming to pray, crossed the road with his hands in his pockets.

The stone steps in front of the church were a bit slippery, so Beta deliberately slowed his pace to make his posture appear more natural. As he stepped through the oak door studded with copper nails, solemn hymns echoed from within the church, and the sound of the pipe organ swirled beneath the dome.

Beta knew nothing about religious music and could only barely recognize that it was some kind of gospel song. His gaze swept over the believers on the long wooden benches, the hunched old man, the old woman with a black headscarf, and a few burly Slavic men.

Beta chose to sit in the middle row. Taking the opportunity to adjust his posture, he noticed a Slavic man dressed in black standing on the second-floor platform, a position overlooking the entire church.

At this moment, the priest noticed the unfamiliar face and slowly walked over.

"Do you need help, my child?" The priest's voice was gentle yet weathered.

Beta replied in fluent Russian, “I just felt I should come here, even though I’ve never believed in God.” His tone was perfectly tinged with confusion.

The priest smiled and nodded: "Every lost soul will be guided. Can you tell me your name, child?"

“Paul Ostrovsky,” Berta said without batting an eye, uttering this hastily made-up, distinctly literary name.

The priest, oblivious to anything amiss, said, "Let me guide you onto the right path. Would you like to go to the confessional and tell me your story?"

Beta feigned hesitation: "I think... perhaps I should prepare some gifts for the Lord first. Is it appropriate to offer sacrifices on my first visit?"

“It is appropriate to express devotion to the Lord at any time,” the priest said lovingly.

Beta slowly stood up. "Thank you, Father. I'll go get it from the car."

He bowed slightly, turned, and walked towards the door.

The priest stood there, watching the young man's departing figure, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "What a pious fool," he thought to himself. "To be so eager to offer a gift on his first visit to church—such a gullible person is rare these days." Less than five minutes later, the figure reappeared at the church entrance.

The priest squinted as he watched the young man stride toward him, a bulging black backpack slung over his shoulder. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting dappled shadows on him, making him appear as if he were divided into several pieces.

“Child, what have you brought to the Lord?” The priest maintained a kind expression, gesturing towards the side hall. “Let’s go to the back and offer your offering to the Lord.”

The young man in front of him suddenly smiled, a smile that sent a chill down the priest's spine.

“I brought Slavic specialties for the Lord,” Beta’s voice was light. “And a few damned souls.”

In the instant the priest froze, Beta abruptly opened his backpack and pulled out an AK-Alfa rifle, modernized by CAA. The metal parts gleamed with a cold, matte luster in the church's candlelight.

Gunshots rang out beneath the church dome.

The first bullet struck the priest precisely in the knee, the 7.62mm bullet instantly shattering his bones. The priest let out a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed to the ground.

Beta's gun barrel barely paused, turning to the right the instant the priest fell.

A burly Slavic man suddenly rose from the bench, his right hand already reaching into his robe.

Beta calmly pulled the trigger, and two short bursts hit the opponent in the chest. Blood splattered on the white shirt, and the figure crashed heavily onto the wooden chair, knocking a row of seats askew.

The sound of hurried footsteps came from the second-floor platform.

Beta, relying on his memory of the location, raised his hand and fired three shots in quick succession. The bullets pierced the fence, and with a muffled thud, the gangster on guard duty exploded in a cloud of blood. His body leaned forward, and due to inertia, he flipped over the railing, crashing onto the first-floor floor like a bag of cement, making a sound like bones shattering.

The entire church instantly descended into chaos.

Beta, like a precise killing machine, constantly adjusted the angle of his gun, taking out the gang members who were trying to hide behind the pillars one by one.

Bullets pierced the wooden chair, shattered the candlestick, and sparked against the stone pillar. Each short burst was accompanied by a scream, and blood quickly meandered into a river on the sacred marble floor.

The echoes of gunfire gradually faded beneath the church dome, plunging the entire space into an eerie silence. In the front row, an elderly woman with hearing loss continued to pray intently, completely unaware of the bloody massacre behind her.

Apart from that, all that remained were the priest's painful groans and the suppressed sobs of a few innocent believers.

Beta stepped over the pool of blood and approached the priest, ignoring the Russian curses escaping the old man's lips. He swung the butt of his rifle and smashed it into the priest's right cheek, the sound of bones shattering accompanied by the flying of broken teeth.

“Take me to Vigo’s treasure vault,” he said calmly.

The priest glared at Beta with bloodshot eyes, spitting out a mouthful of blood: "Do you know who you're going against?"

“Very clear.” Beta’s gun barrel remained motionless: “Take me to Vigo’s treasury.”

“Vigo will skin me alive,” the priest’s voice began to tremble.

Without hesitation, Beta pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced the priest's left palm, splattering blood on the stone floor. The priest's screams were particularly piercing in the empty church.

“And now?” Beta asked.

The priest trembled and gave in.

Beta grabbed him by the back of his collar and lifted him up, dragging his shattered knee, limping as he led the demon toward the basement passage.

(End of this chapter)